The Clouded Sky

by Megan Crewe

  “And we can’t just set up someone who hasn’t done anything wrong to take the punishment,” Win puts in.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Isis says. “Mako’s right—it’d be nearly impossible.”

  “They can’t keep the lockdown going forever,” Jule says. “At some point, people will start to complain; Security will have to bow to the pressure.”

  “But how long?” Odgan says. “Ten-days? Months? You’re probably too young to remember what it was like after Jeanant disappeared. They loosened up on some of the primary station activities, let people go to work or school and do their fitness, but things like off-station travel stayed restricted for more than a year.”

  A cold pool forms in my gut. We’re stuck then. All the time we’ve spent, the work we put in, the risks we took . . . We finished everything we needed to, we’re ready to see through Jeanant’s mission, and we’re trapped here more literally than ever before.

  I grip the edge of my bunk, not trusting myself to speak. At least for the rest of them, this trap is their home. Mine’s millions of miles distant. To live here like this while Kurra prowls outside, for another year? The thought makes me want to climb the walls.

  Thlo’s voice brings me back. “We’ll continue to work on our options. In the meantime, I’d ask that everyone stay quiet and keep to themselves until arrangements have been made. If you encounter information you think would be useful in making those arrangements, please communicate it to Isis, who can pass it on to me.”

  Pavel frowns, maybe at Isis being given priority over his more senior position. Mako stirs restlessly. But when Thlo makes a dismissive gesture, both their images blink out, as do Odgan’s and Emmer’s. I reach for the controls, and pause when I realize the others aren’t disconnecting.

  Thlo nods to us. “With the rest of you, I’d like to discuss another option. Tabzi has a proposal.”

  My gaze jerks to Tabzi’s box in the bottom right of my display. She ducks her head as if uncertain with the spotlight on her.

  “My brother just bought a new, ah, recreational ship,” she says. “It’s very fast, the best equipment—he likes it that way. He took it out before this happened, for a . . . trial trip around the solar system. He should be back into Travel bay range in a few days.

  “I think if I asked to borrow it—if I said I want to get away from the station for a little while with friends—he would agree to let me jump on board and he and his friends jump off without docking, so the ship wouldn’t be . . . stopped in the lockdown. We would only need to open . . . access in one of the Travel bays to jump out.”

  Isis has brightened. “I could arrange that. We’d have to get the timing just right, to leave before the Enforcers pick up the discrepancy, but it could work. If we get out quickly enough, we might even make it without them noticing at all.”

  “And we’d have a head start if anyone pursues us,” Britta says. “What type of engines are we talking about?”

  Tabzi gives an embarrassed laugh. “I, ah, it’s not an area I know very much about. But he sent the . . . specifications around to show them off. I can send them to you.”

  “Do that,” Britta says with more energy. “It sounds like a good possibility!”

  A thin smile crosses Tabzi’s face. I study her, trying to read the thoughts behind it. If she’s the one who’s betrayed us, this would be a perfect trick, wouldn’t it? A way to get us all in one place, where we could be easily apprehended. Maybe the traitor hasn’t been waiting so long to protect some of us, but to make sure we’re all caught together in a way that can’t be denied, for maximum glory.

  The others talk further about logistics and tech, most of which I don’t totally follow, until Thlo calls the discussion to an end.

  “Isis,” I say quickly, “can I talk to you privately for a second?”

  “Of course,” she says.

  She stays on while the others disconnect, the feed of her face expanding to fill the entire display.

  “Do you think it’s safe, letting Tabzi in on everything?” I ask.

  “I don’t know if we have much choice, if we want to move forward,” she says. “I’ve seen no more evidence pointing to her than to anyone else. And the longer we’re confined here, the more chance there is for one of us to be caught, or essential materials confiscated . . . Thlo felt she could be trusted.”

  Which would be fine, if I totally trusted Thlo’s judgment. I bite my lip. “Have you told Thlo about Davic? What have you been able to find out?”

  “I did,” she says, “and you don’t need to worry, I managed to leave out your involvement. She agrees with Britta and me that the signs indicate he’s Silmeru’s source. Shortly after the incident in the tech bay, a glowing report was added to his file that’s so vague you’d almost think it was for nothing. After they caught our first jet-pod, his job recommendation score was nearly doubled. Things like that. Things I can’t find any explanation for in his documented work.”

  “Rewards for the information he passed on,” I say, my heart thumping. Things are going to change for me, he’s been telling his friends. He must be aiming for a big promotion, or more. “So what do we do now? Have you made any progress determining who’s been talking to him?”

  “I’ve looked at all of his communication records that we can access,” Isis says. “There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing we could trace. Whoever it is has found ways to cover their tracks. I’d suggest investigating more at his favorite club, but that’ll be locked down. We’re going to keep monitoring him. Something will occur to us. We’re not letting them get away with this, Skylar.”

  We’d better not, I think as the communication link closes. It isn’t just us at risk, but Jeanant’s entire mission—and my entire planet.

  25.

  I don’t doubt that Britta’s data-ferreting skills vastly exceed mine even in her current state, but I can’t help spending most of the next two days searching out every report I can find that mentions this Davic guy. His full name is Bitre Olka-Jia Davic, and as far as I can gather, he has a wife and two grown children. He’s been working for the Earth Travel division for the equivalent of twenty-four Earth years. Given that timeline, he might even have worked with Jeanant at some point. But there’s nothing notable about him in the public record, no accolades or controversies or anything more than brief notes in the midst of larger news. Nothing that gives a hint of any connection between him and anyone in our group, or a reason he was chosen to pass information to other than that they selected the least prominent Earth Travel employee they could find.

  By the evening of the second day, an official announcement goes out that the lockdown has been downgraded from first level to second. More employees will be called back to work, with special permissions on their network profiles to allow them to use the inner-shuttles. The main fitness centers have reopened. But all other recreational areas are still closed, and Enforcers are continuing to patrol, questioning anyone who appears to be loitering. Jule monitors their appearances in our hall for a few hours and determines that either Kurra or her male colleague passes by every thirty minutes or so.

  We’re running out of time. On the morning of the third day, Isis informs Jule and me that Tabzi’s brother’s ship meets Britta’s approval. Tabzi’s contacted her brother with our cover story and asked him to wait to enter the Travel zone around the station until she gives him a signal that she’s ready—sometime tomorrow. “So we can wait and see what the situation looks like then,” Isis says, “and plan around it.”

  Unfortunately, the one thing we can’t plan around is Tabzi’s loyalty, since we have no idea where it lies.

  “Britta and I will program access to the inner-shuttle system for Skylar using the thumb sequence we got before,” Isis adds at the end. “The fake profile might be caught in a few days, but by that time we shouldn’t need it. It’ll mean if we need to leave in a hurry and Jule doesn’t happen to be with you, you’ll be able to come quickly to meet us on your own.”
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  “What about the hall surveillance?” I ask. “I can avoid the patrols, but—how closely are they watching the footage?”

  “I’ll take care of that too,” Isis says. “I can tweak the recognition program so when it identifies one of us, it automatically deletes that note and alters our image in the footage. I don’t usually like to use that trick for longer than a meeting, in case someone happens to be watching right when it kicks in, but, if all goes well, this is the last time I’ll have to.”

  She gives us directions to the three Travel bays we’re most likely to be able to get brief entry to, with a warning that she won’t know which one until the last minute. When she signs off, I sit there looking at the blank screen.

  “It’s happening so fast,” I say to Jule. The other day I was worried I’d be trapped here for months. Now I feel as though we’re hurtling forward blindly. The traitor is still at large, and we’re about to put ourselves in the most vulnerable position possible.

  “Well, Tabzi’s brother can’t keep pleasure-cruising much longer,” Jule points out. “He probably only brought supplies for the trip he expected to take. And he’ll get suspicious if Tabzi keeps him waiting. This might be the only chance we get.”

  “Aren’t you worried she could be the one sabotaging us?”

  “Of course,” he says. “But if Thlo and Isis haven’t found any sign of it . . . Sometimes you’ve got to take the risk, isn’t that what you Earthlings say?”

  I shoulder him, and he smiles, wrapping his arms around me. And then the screen pings with a call for Jule to report to work that afternoon.

  After he leaves, the apartment feels even more confining. I pace the floor in the main room, force down a calming drink that barely touches my anxiety, and finally retreat into my bedroom to continue my search for even the slightest useful tidbit on Davic.

  I paw through the public channels so long I get a headache from staring at the glowing shifting interface. As I close the network, my gaze falls on the directory icon. I tap it, and enter Davic’s name. The interface offers me the option to send him a message, as well as listing his address. My fingers waver. Writing him a letter won’t work—even if I could figure out the right thing to say to provoke him to respond, sending it would leave a data trail straight to this apartment.

  My gaze goes back to the address. Ward 35, Sector 8, Apartment 4. Jule’s words echo in my head.

  Sometimes you’ve got to take the risk.

  I don’t care who Thlo trusts, or how much faith Jule has in her and Isis’s judgment. I can’t feel comfortable making a run for it without doing everything we possibly can to find out who’s betraying us. Confronting Davic wouldn’t be any more risky than dashing off onto a spaceship that there’s a good chance the traitor arranged. And if I’m the only one here who cares enough to take the right risks, so be it. Jeanant proved that even the most brilliant Kemyate can get too caught up in caution to see clearly. Maybe it makes sense that it’d take an Earthling to ensure Earth is freed.

  I call Isis’s apartment with the code she left us. It’s Britta who answers. “Hey, Skylar,” she says, her eyes wide. “Is everything all right?”

  “It is,” I say hastily. “I was just wondering—have you programmed the inner-shuttles for me yet?”

  “They should be ready. I worked out the code and Isis was going to access the shuttle controls as soon as she went out—she got called for some electrical problem in one of the laboratory departments, just a little while ago.”

  “What about her trick with the surveillance?”

  “That too. We wanted everything in place since we didn’t know if we might need it before she’s done at work.” She pauses. “Why are you asking?”

  I’m considering what to tell her when she closes her eyes, pressing her hand against her temple. “Britta?” I say.

  “Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ve been getting these dizzy spells. I’m okay.”

  My chest tightens. I can’t put another burden on her.

  “Get some rest,” I say. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I was just worrying about what would happen if I needed to get out of here, with Jule at work.”

  She gazes back at me, as if struggling to focus. “You be careful.”

  “Of course,” I say. As careful as I can afford to be.

  As soon as we cut off the connection, I take stock. I’m dressed in my usual Kemyate clothes—there’s nothing about my appearance that should tip anyone off that I’m an Earthling. So all I have to worry about is my voice. I’ve gotten in a lot of practice speaking as well as listening with the Language Learner now. Can I hope that I’ll startle Davic enough that I can find out what I need before he notices my accented Kemyate?

  I need to figure out what I’m going to say, what I want to draw out of him. Davic and our traitor must have some special method of communication set up. Britta or Isis could probably trace it if they knew what it is. And the easiest way to find that out would be for me to pretend I want to do the same thing.

  I can’t claim I have information for him right now. There’d be nothing stopping him from calling the Enforcers immediately. I have to catch his interest as a potential source, to discover how he’s handled his other informant, but make him believe I can’t offer anything yet. A fish he’ll want to keep on the line until it’s ready to reel in.

  I enter phrases into the language program, and imitate its pronunciation as it speaks them back to me. Over and over, until it no longer makes the slightest correction. My heart has started to thud. I walk around the apartment, murmuring the words until I don’t have to think about them. Then I scoop up Jule’s bracelet, fastening it around my wrist tucked under my shirtsleeve so I can play the bewildered pet if someone stops me, and head out into the hall.

  I hesitate in the doorway, but there’s no sign of Kurra or her fellow Enforcer. I jog over to the shuttle stop and press my thumb to the panel. Despite Britta’s assurances, I almost laugh in surprise when it chimes. She and Isis are an amazing team.

  The shuttle that arrives is empty—not surprising given that most people’s jobs are still reduced if not outright on hold. But when it lets me off in Davic’s sector, I catch the tread of footsteps in the hall just as I’m stepping out. I press myself into the alcove, holding my breath. The footsteps hesitate, and then continue on, getting fainter. After several seconds, they’ve followed the bend of the hall out of hearing. I peek out of the alcove. All clear.

  Apartment 4 is just down the hall. My back prickles as I leave the escape route of the shuttle behind. What if Davic’s been called to work? What if he won’t listen to me?

  Well, despite his bragging to his friends, Davic’s only earned a few small honors by way of our traitor’s information so far. I have trouble believing he’d pass up the chance to get more to bargain with.

  Outside the apartment, I eye the thumb panel. Isis said she made a false profile for me, which presumably has a false name, but I’m not sure I’d want Davic knowing even that. I rap on the door hard enough for the sound to carry through.

  It’s just occurred to me that it might not be Davic who answers, but his wife, when the door opens and I’m faced with the slim-jawed, mahogany-haired man I saw in the directory photo. His watery blue eyes take me in.

  “Yes?” he says with a frown.

  “Mr. Davic,” I say, as rehearsed, “I hear you’re a good person to talk to when someone knows about threats to the station.”

  Davic stiffens. A female voice calls out behind him, asking who’s there, and he turns to tell her he needs to step out for a moment. I back up as he edges out. His gaze twitches to take in both ends of the otherwise empty hall. I guess his wife doesn’t know about his bonus “work” for Earth Travel.

  “Who did you hear that from?” he demands, his voice low and harsh.

  “There’s been talk,” I say with what I hope looks like a casual shrug, and leap back to my script. “Is it true? I’ve gotten a feeling about a few of my coworkers. I
think I can find out whether they’re doing something wrong. But I’m afraid the Enforcers will think I’m involved if I tell them myself. If they trust you . . .”

  He pauses. “We might be able to arrange something. What do you want for it?”

  The question catches me off-guard. “Want?”

  “How much do you expect this information to be worth?” he says. “As a starting place. We can adjust the price based on what you’re able to give me.”

  “You’d pay me . . .” Thlo never mentioned Silmeru giving financial compensation to her source. But then, maybe she hasn’t. Maybe Davic’s been paying our traitor out of his own pocket, knowing he’ll be repaid in a way with work bonuses. It hadn’t occurred to me that the traitor might want anything more than to get in our way. Is this betrayal—the danger they’ve put us in, the injury Britta’s suffered—about money, of all things?

  My accent must be slipping in my confusion. Davic’s eyes narrow as he studies my face. “What exactly have you seen?”

  “No proof,” I say, struggling to control my voice. “I’m not certain it’s anything unauthorized. But I’ll look into it, and give you the details when I have any. If we can come to an arrangement.”

  Davic still looks concerned. “Who are you? What division are you with?”

  “I don’t think that’s important,” I say. “Just tell me how I should get in touch with you . . . discreetly.”

  I stumble over the last word, my anxiety tripping up my tongue, and Davic steps toward me. “I don’t like this,” he says. “You need to tell me more now.”

  He grabs my wrist when I jerk back, just above the spot where Jule’s bracelet is hidden. I brought it in case I needed help, but now it could hurt me. If it slides down, he might not only see I’m an Earthling, but also who I “belong” to.

  “Let me go!” I snap, trying to sound angry rather than terrified. “I’ll find someone else then.”

  “I don’t think so,” he says, yanking me toward him. I twist my hand but can’t force his grip to release. So I use the only other strategy that comes to me. I haul back my other arm and punch him.